


little talks (though the truth may vary)

by foxinsocksinabox



Category: ACCA13区監察課 | ACCA 13-ku Kansatsuka
Genre: Multi, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 09:59:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12106257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxinsocksinabox/pseuds/foxinsocksinabox
Summary: "I know," Schwann starts, voice half-strangled in his attempt at control. "That I wasn't supposed to be King. That ridiculous pretend coup at the ACCA centennial five years ago. Director-General Mauve played it off, but it wasn't staged, was it? It was real, and you were supposed to replace me."Or, Jean and Schwann meet for the first time since the ACCA centennial.





	little talks (though the truth may vary)

They meet again for the first time since the coup-that-wasn't, at Lotta's wedding.

It's a large affair, despite all efforts otherwise. Lotta has always made friends as easily as breathing; she's the warm, shining sun to Jean's calm and lonely moon, and her wish for a small ceremony and reception crumbled rapidly under the weight of all the people she wanted to invite.

There had been a few obligatory invitations, of course. Jean hadn't been surprised at all to find an acceptance letter in their mailbox one day, penned gracefully on gold-edged paper and stamped with the royal seal. Of course Lotta would invite the King.

"He's not going to make it all about him, is he?" Nino had drawled, his seemingly lackadaisical attitude disguising real concern. "You know what he's like."

"I think it'll be alright." Jean did know what he was like. But because of that, he wasn't really that worried. King Schwann  had, by all accounts, become fond of his secret younger cousin, even if he and Jean had not met since ACCA's dramatic centennial.

Nino had sighed at him, and let the subject drop.

The day of the wedding dawns bright and clear. Lotta is a vision in Suitsu lace, artfully arranged golden hair the only crown she'll ever wear. But she doesn't feel the lack; neither of them do. It's impossible not to see the happiness radiating from her, and she's so lovely with it that beside her, Rail can't seem to look away. He floats through the wedding with a look on his face that says he's waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like he can't believe he's actually gotten this lucky.

All Jean has to do is look for Nino, circulating amongst the guests with a camera around his neck, wearing a family corsage because Lotta wouldn't hear of him doing otherwise, and he thinks he understands the feeling.

The ceremony is brief, the cheers jubilant. Lotta and Rail exit the church to a hail of rice and flowers, bearing identical beaming smiles. Jean himself couldn't stop the generous curve of his lips  if he tried, but admittedly he doesn't try very hard. Lotta catches his eye as she's diving into the wedding car to head for the reception, and even though she's too far away to say anything, the happy crinkle of her eyes and the fond tilt of her head are all Jean needs.

She blows him a kiss as Rail shuts the door behind her and darts round to the other side of the car. As they pull screeching away from the curve, Jean, temporarily freed of his brotherly wedding duties, pulls out his cigarette case.

"Still have that awful habit, I see."

Blinking, Jean turns. The King of Dowa draws up beside him, dressed simply in a dove grey suit with his hands tucked deep into his pockets. His tie is the deep red of the royal family, but he has kept himself otherwise understated, without a crown or a cloak in sight.

Schwann looks at him sidelong, chin lifted haughtily. "Well. I suppose congratulations are in order."

Jean, cigarette dangling loosely from his lips, at least knows how he's supposed to respond to that. He murmurs a thanks, dipping his head as he fishes in his pockets for his lighter. When he finds it tucked away in the inside pocket of his suit, he draws it out, cupping his hand around the end of the cigarette to light it.

The other guests have already begun to disperse, a few waving at Jean as they shrug coats on over their formalwear. No one dares to approach when he has the King at his side, though, and Jean finds himself faintly grateful for the privacy, present company excluded.

"How's running the country treating you, your Majesty?" he asks finally, when they've stood in silence for another few minutes. Jean's never been the type to be bothered by quiet, but Schwann is clearly a different animal. He's been winding himself progressively tighter with every minute that passed without Jean saying anything.

The breeze carries a curl of smoke past Schwann despite Jean's subtle effort to blow it in the other direction, and the King makes a face. Still, the fact that he doesn't demand Jean put it out is perhaps a sign of growth. "Oh, you know," he says breezily. "My Privy Council is very experienced in this sort of thing. Hardly have to lift a finger. Rather relaxing, really."

Jean hums. Minister Qualm had resigned upon the late King's death three years ago, but Jean knows Schwann had otherwise inherited most of his grandfather's counsellors. He takes another deep drag of his cigarette. "Lotta tells me you've been trying to get more involved in ruling, over the last year."

Schwann's been caught in the lie, and he knows it. "And?" He shoots back, sounding waspish. "Am I not allowed to take an interest in my own country?"

Jean blows out smoke, watching the breeze cut through the pale grey curls. "I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to."

Now, Jean looks at him. Schwann's mouth has curved itself downwards; he really has no pokerface whatsoever. He doesn't look much different from the arrogant boy ACCA had nearly deposed, but the intervening years have given him a new seriousness. In his visible struggle to stay composed, he looks almost stern in a way few of the Dowan royal family are; a little bit like the First Princess.

Jean glances around. The guests have almost all left, but Jean can see a few familiar figures lingering politely just out of earshot. Most of them are the King's guards, but one, lounging by the door of the church, is a lanky figure with tousled blue hair.

"I know," Schwann starts, voice half-strangled in his attempt at control. Jean turns back to him. "That I wasn't supposed to be King. That ridiculous pretend coup at the ACCA centennial five years ago. Director-General Mauve played it off, but it wasn't staged, was it? It was real, and you were supposed to replace me."

"As Director-General Mauve explained--"

"Don't play stupid with me."

Jean inclines his head, and doesn't try again.

Schwann's imperial chin has lowered so that he can stare hard at the ground, a muscle jumping in his jaw. Every word that escapes him sounds like it is pushed out through clenched teeth. "I know I'm probably doing a bad job, but I'm trying. I want to learn now, but nobody will damned well teach me!"

He lifts his head to glare at Jean, who stares back evenly. "I don't care that you would have made a better King.  _ I _ wear the crown now. And I'm going to rule as I see fit, even if I have to do it alone."

Jean tilts his head. Ashes his cigarette. Just as Schwann looks away, making as if to turn, Jean says, "I never wanted a crown."

"Hmph. And I'm supposed to believe that?"

Jean lifts the cigarette to his lips, but doesn't breathe it in, just holds it there as he watches smoke curl up and dissipate, ephemeral. He lifts his shoulders in a shrug. "Believe it or not, it's true. The thing I want most is to live my life quietly with my sister and my friends. If I was King I couldn't do that."

Schwann scoffs. "Please don't pretend as if you don't basically run the Inspection Division."

"But I can still walk to my favourite bakery by myself to buy sandwich bread. If I feel like it."

The King doesn't respond, and Jean takes a shallow puff of his cigarette. When the smoke had left his lungs, he looks at Schwann and says, "You're proud."

"Excuse me?"

"You're proud," Jean repeats, and watches with a flicker of amusement as confusion, disdain, and offended pride war for dominance on Schwann's face. He says, "That's not a bad thing. Your family's ruled peacefully for over a hundred years. It's a legacy anyone could be proud of, but it also means you're responsible for continuing it. Can you?"

Offended pride wins out, and Schwann draws himself up very, very straight. At his full height, he's maybe an inch taller than Jean now, but Jean thinks a little smugly that he won't ever touch Nino. "Of course I can." Schwann scowls, and unfortunately it makes him look about as intimidating as a twelve-year-old, despite his height. "I won't be a puppet king forever."

Jean feels a smile threaten, so he drags on the cigarette, feeling the filter heat as it starts to burn low. As he exhales, he drops the butt to extinguish it, then bends to retrieve it with a sigh. "Don't wait to be taught," he says as he straightens, sweeping his shoe back and forth to rub out the ashy smear on the pavement. "Don't be too proud to ask for help."

When he looks up, movement over Schwann's shoulder catches Jean's eye. Magie approaches with a carefully calculated loudness, and he returns Jean's small smile with a tiny scrunch at the corner of his eyes. 

"Your Majesty," Magie murmurs. "We must be going if we are to return to Dowa by this evening."

Schwann looks torn for a moment, before sighing sharply. "Alright, Magie."

Jean takes it as his cue to bow, dying cigarette butt still warm in his hand. "Thank you for coming today, your Majesty. It made Lotta very happy."

"It was my pleasure. Please thank your sister for the invitation, and tell her I'm sorry that I cannot stay for the reception."

"I'll pass it on, your Majesty."

A brisk nod releases him from the formalities, but as Jean turns to go, Schwann calls his name. "Otus. Do you still travel outside of Badon?"

"Every once in awhile, Sire," Jean says, glancing back. 

For a long second, Schwann looks at war with himself. Then, he draws in a breath and nods, a firm gesture so imbued with authority that no one would ever mistake him for anything but royalty. When he meets Jean's eyes, there is fierce determination in the angle of his brows, a fire burning in the pallid blue of his irises.

"I won't be too proud to ask for help," Schwann says, voice hard. "So I trust you will do your duty to your King."

He won't mature into the geniality of his grandfather, Jean is suddenly sure. Schwann will be a forbidding man one day. A fierce King. There's only one way he can respond.

Jean turns fully and clicks his heels together, snapping his right hand up to his forehead. He holds the salute until he sees the recognition in Schwann's eyes, and then he takes his leave.

"You're smiling," Nino murmurs, wariness in every line of his body when Jean reaches him. "His Majesty didn't try to make things difficult?"

"No." Jean says, and catches absently at Nino's lapel with the tips of his fingers.

"You're in a good mood."

Jean thinks about it for a second, and his lips quirk in the tiny, private smile he reserves for Nino alone. "I'm thinking about the future, I suppose."

Nino raises a single eyebrow. "Good thoughts?"

"Good thoughts. Let's go home."


End file.
